Fortuna
by starsarefading
Summary: Struggling so his words don’t fly straight over her head, Addison takes in a world she plans to make her own. [WIP] Backstory Addie fic.


Disclaimer: Grey's isn't mine, which I think is pretty obvious after the S2 finale (hatehate).

A/N: This is a non-story work-in-progress that is mostly just an excuse to write a background for Addison and by proxy, I guess, for Derek, Mark and Richard. The lack of backstory bothers me endlessly on Grey's Anatomy. Ignore the time frame, I'm not paying much attention to it, and Shonda doesn't, either (insert glare here).

This is a prologue, of sorts, and it's a little worrying because the timing seems to be off, but hopefully it will get better in the next chapter. I'm calling it _Fortuna, _for now, because _Pretty Dumb Luck_ seemed like a strange title.

So if you're still venturing to read, I hope you enjoy. And reviews are love.

* * *

**Fortuna**

_I. If we do not change our direction we are likely to end up where we are headed._

The bells hanging on the car's mirror jingle softly while Addison prays that they remain the only sound inside the taxi. New York, she has found, truly is full of eccentric, if not terribly misguided, people who dash through numbered streets, walking as easily in between century old and fresh-paint brand new sky scrappers.

Usually she's not bothered by it, considers it all very endearing; the smells, the views and sounds of what for so long had been only an imaginary city to her. But on this morning of undecided clarity, Addison wants nothing more than silence, than time to enjoy a peace she knows is slipping away; time to concentrate only on existing.

It seems, however, that the universe disagrees with her plan and has put her inside the chattiest, most unrelenting cab driver's back seat.

"You said this was your first time in the city, no?"

"Yes," Addison answers, barely resisting the urge to snap. The man has been trying to small talk from the minute she got in, and is giving no sign of letting it go soon.

"You must visit Chinatown, then," he tells her with a voice that could hold the wisdom of the world.

Addison doesn't have time for it, not today. "I will as soon as I can."

"I don't understand all these tourists who come to New York and don't visit Chinatown," he continues. "The Statue of Liberty, the Empire State, Central Park, sure, they're all nice enough, but Chinatown is really something."

He pauses, then, and Addison crazily hopes that he has gotten lost enough in his contemplation to forgo his power of speech.

No such luck.

"Of course, it's a little dangerous," he tells her whisperingly, "but what is good without a healthy dose of danger?"

This captures her attention, because if anything, she needs to believe that this fluttering in her stomach—the air that just isn't getting to her lungs, crushing her ribs and saying that this is her biggest mistake yet—is just the danger on the way to good. To great.

Addison shakes the sentiment off (she's not this kind of girl) and checks her watch. The man is going on about Chinese food, and when she confesses not liking it, not once in her 24 years having been even tempted to master chopsticks, she doesn't feel bad.

"Not even American Chinese food? Not even mein? Not even spring rolls?" He takes a break to better point out his surprise, "everybody likes spring rolls."

She lifts her right arm in a shrug and replies, "Well, I like Chinese fortune cookies."

The man glares at her through the rest of the ride.

--

As soon as Addison walks in, she knows where she's supposed to be. If the wide eyes weren't indication enough, the agglutinate of lost looking 20-somethings would be certainly proof of who, amongst all the chaos, was new, and even worse, an intern.

She tries to blend in with the crowd, but the red hair doesn't quite let her and the older doctor, obviously chief, frowns for just a second before continuing his speech. Struggling so his words don't fly straight over her head, Addison takes in a world she plans to make her own.

--

Later, in the looker room, she waits while an assistant divides the interns in smaller groups. "Hughes, Montgomery, Reinach, Shepard and Walters, you're with Dr. Webber."

As soon as she hears the name call, Addison freezes. With slow steps he gets closer to her, although she has her back to him, Addison can sense him stopping only a few inches away. She doesn't know how to deal with this, and it really shouldn't be her problem.

"Hi."

Addison turns around while trying to figure out the odds of him getting an internship at the same hospital she did. "Hey, Derek."

His voice is smaller than she remembers it, but maybe it's just the thick awkwardness that impregnates the air. She realizes she's been staring a little, so she asks, "how have you been?"

"Good, good," he replies. It takes a moment for him to realize that he should ask about her, too. He has always been polite, and Addison is absolutely going to kill Emily. "And you?"

"Yeah, I'm… hm, good," she says.

"That's good," he intends to say, but the words stop midway, falling away lazily from his mouth.

They stand there, sliding feet on the floor and tapping fingers gently on scrubs until the lightest smile tugs at the corner of her lips. He catches it and laughs, shaking his head.

She covers her mouth with a hand and throws her head just a little back. "Oh my God."

He nods. Teasingly, Derek starts, "yeah, when we're both world famous surgeons who are part of an intellectual elite…"

"…I promise not to tell anyone about this conversation as long as you don't," she finishes.

"Deal."

Addison feels as though the ice that has been stuck down her throat since the day's beginning is finally melting.

"Well, good."

--

48 hours. 48 freaking hours is how long Addison has been in the hospital. She needs food, a shower, a bed and probably a pill. She also needs a ride, but after such a long shift, she has had all that she can take of co-worker fraternizing.

48 hours, no surgery but many sutures (an unfair trade) and she could really use a pie.

Inside her purse, as she is leaving, Addison finds the card from the Chinese taxi driver of the day before. Hesitating, she picks up one of the hospital's phone to dial his number.

"Hello, Mr. Zhou? This is Addison Montgomery. You drove me to Mt. Sinai yesterday morning?"

--

The bells hanging on the car's mirror jingle softly as Addison gets in the cab, hoping for a silent drive.

"Fortune cookie girl," the driver says cheerfully.

She closes her eyes and smiled tiredly. "Yes, that's me. Could you drive me back to the flat?"

Morning is just breaking, still tenuous, grey. Addison lets her body feel the movement before actually processing it, appreciating the slow down.

"So back home," the man asks.

She nods silently.

"I got you something," he tells her. She opens her eyes to see a genuine smile on his face. She turns her head slightly to the side as she takes the white-plastic wrapped cookie. He goes on, "I thought you'd like it."

Addison thinks about what her mother said about taking candy from strangers, and how she and Emily used to break the rules all the time when they were children. Parting the cookie, she gently brings half of it to her mouth. She pulls the piece of paper, reads it, smiles, folds and places it safely in her pocket. "Thank you."

Well, it's been a long time since she was a kid, now. Still, whispering she repeats, "back home."


End file.
